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Chapter 103: Luring the Snake Out Part 3
While Cogin harbored its secret fears, Conrad and the low-ranking Dark Priest of the Blackfire cultists were also studying the newly arrived lizardfolk. However, they weren’t particularly impressed—these lowly reptiles all seemed to have the same face. To them, this “lizard” looked no different from the previous one.
Perhaps the patterns on their scales varied?
Hjúkigr, however, recognized his subordinate and asked, “Cogin, you’re back earlier than I expected. Did you find the target?” Without resorting to the awkward Cruzean tongue, the lizardfolk brigand leader spoke fluently.
“Yes, boss,” Cogin replied, head bowed and trembling nervously.
Its demeanor didn’t raise Hjúkigr’s suspicions—he had always demanded reverence from his underlings. But the impatient brigand leader waved his hand dismissively. “When did you become so hesitant, Cogin? Spit it out. What did you see?”
“Well, boss,” the lizardfolk officer swallowed hard, stuttering slightly, “My men and I were attacked in the south. We lost some… four brothers. The attackers were humans—fifteen of them, led by a young man with two women. They were strong. We didn’t even have time to react before…”
“The south?” Hjúkigr interrupted, seemingly unfazed by the losses. “You’re sure it was the south?”
Cogin froze, expecting an outburst, but quickly nodded.
“What did it say?” Conrad, growing impatient with the lizardfolk chatter, seized the creature’s shoulder as soon as Hjúkigr raised his voice.
Hjúkigr brushed his hand away. “The south, eh? Perfect. Donald, is your opponent playing hide-and-seek with us?”
“Southeast, south, southwest,” the Dark Priest muttered. “This doesn’t make sense. There must be a scheme here.”
“What scheme?” Hjúkigr scoffed. “It’s simple. They’ve discovered our plans. That fool you sent to tail them has been dealt with. The humans are fleeing south, splitting into three groups to mislead us. I’ve seen this trick a hundred times.”
“Impossible!” The Blackfire cultist’s dark priest nearly leapt up. “My Divine Messenger is with them!” He brandished a crystal from his robe. “It hasn’t shattered, which means they’re fine.”
“Then your stupid Divine Messenger got lost,” Hjúkigr sneered.
“A Divine Messenger getting lost? Don’t spout nonsense, you idiotic lizard!” Conrad cut him off, then restrained the agitated dark priest. “Calm down. The lizard’s right about one thing—they’ve discovered our intent. They won’t charge blindly anymore. Fleeing is inevitable. We can’t afford to wait here any longer.”
“So what do we do?” the Dark Priest asked after a pause.
“Pursue them, of course.”
“Which route?” Hjúkigr snapped irritably.
Conrad glared at him coldly. “You really are an idiot. Are there only three of us here? What about your subordinates? Split into three groups. Do you think a dozen silver-rank guards will annihilate us one by one?”
Hjúkigr faltered, opening his mouth but finding no argument against the human’s logic. “When do we move out?” he asked, his tone weaker.
“Now,” the Dark Priest answered.
“No,” Conrad interjected. “We wait until my people and yours arrive. We’ll depart at nightfall.”
“You’re too cautious, Conrad,” the Dark Priest grumbled, though he shared the same concerns. From the mounted rangers’ reports, the humans had retreated far too alertly. Still, he muttered, “But you’re right.”
Hjúkigr’s diamond-shaped pupils darted between them. “Don’t forget, half the credit for this goes to me.”
The two glanced at the shameless lizardfolk, exchanging a disdainful snort. Yet none of the three noticed the subtle sigh of relief from Cogin, who had kept his head bowed throughout. Surely that terrifying wizard will return my soul now, Cogin thought. What did he say? If I’m still alive when the moon rises, my soul will return.
But doubt crept in. That cunning human wizard wouldn’t go back on his word, would he?
A shiver ran down Cogin’s spine.
---
Night fell swiftly.
Regardless of whether Cogin truly lost his soul when the moon rose, Conrad, Hjúkigr, and their forces sprang into action.
From miles away, atop a hill near the Silver Elves’ ruins, torches blazed below, turning the landscape into a fiery sea. Such a sight was rare—it signaled that the lizardfolk brigands were mobilizing. Organizing over a thousand disorganized lizardfolk into coherent units was no small feat.
About an hour later, another long column of torches appeared from the west, entering Balrogan’s ruins. The flickering lights converged, painting the horizon crimson.
Meanwhile, four shadowy figures stood silently atop the hill.
“The Blackfire cultists have joined them,” Brandon murmured, his eyes reflecting the flames.
“And Conrad’s men,” Sanford added.
Brandon nodded.
“You’re certain they’ll split into three groups, my lord?” the young man asked. “What if they consolidate instead? What if they uncover our ruse?”
“No such ‘what ifs,’” Brandon thought. With his luring skills, failure wasn’t an option. Against elite armies led by geniuses like Madara’s commanders, his tricks might fail. But these lizardfolk bandits? Impossible. He held a critical advantage—he knew their strength, while they only knew of the twelve silver-rank guards Radi described.
Under these conditions, neither Hjúkigr nor Conrad could imagine Brandon’s true plan—to annihilate them entirely and claim the massive experience points. Even if Brandon told them outright that he intended to defeat over a thousand bandits with barely a dozen silver-rank warriors, they’d dismiss him as insane.
Still, Brandon paused, replying, “Even in the worst-case scenario, they’ll consolidate into one group. But that’s still better than us charging in. Remember, they’re the hunters, and we’re the prey. In a chase, the prey always dictates the direction, not the hunters.”
The youth fell silent, nodding.
The Silver Elf commander remained impassive, his power greatly diminished at this distance. Truthfully, he saw little more than Brandon did.
The fourth figure beside them was Roma.
Roma viewed the distant torches differently from the others. To her, the shimmering lights were beautiful, like a canvas painted with fire. But Brandon hadn’t brought her to admire the spectacle. Soon, the torches began to separate, forming three straight lines.
“My lord, you guessed correctly,” Sanford exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. But his excitement dimmed as Brandon’s confidence reminded him of Macaro. If there was anyone in the hearts of the Gray Wolves mercenaries who they believed would always find a way to lead them forward, that person had once been Macaro. Alas, the notion of "always" was ultimately nothing more than wishful thinking.
Unperturbed by Sanford’s emotional fluctuations, Brandon pointed downward. “Roma, can you see who leads each group?”
Sanford and the Silver Elf commander exchanged startled glances. How could she? The ruins were miles away, and the torchlights were faint, like fireflies. But they quickly remembered that Roma wasn’t ordinary. She nodded immediately.
“Of course. The leftmost group is led by a lizard-like figure, Brandon.”
“That’s Hjúkigr. Continue,” Brandon said, already aware of Roma’s keen vision. Last time, in Ridenburg, she had spotted Madara’s army miles away in near-total darkness. With moonlight and torches, this was child’s play.
“The middle group is led by a young human in leather armor… and something strange follows him.” Roma described the creature carefully.
“Conrad and the Divine Messenger,” Brandon identified instantly. “Odd, they’re together. Who leads the third group, Roma?”
Roma squinted, relaying her observations.
“A robe? Black, with red trim?”
“I can’t see clearly, Brandon.”
Brandon pondered. “It’s a Blackfire cultist Dark Priest. No wonder someone cursed Cinnabar. According to Radi, they shouldn’t exceed mid-tier rank.”
“So, my lord, shall we stick to the original plan?” Sanford asked.
That was the question.
Brandon’s initial strategy was to eliminate the Divine Messenger first. But now, with the Divine Messenger alongside Conrad, confronting them directly would be a brutal fight. Worse, he feared he couldn’t ensure their demise. If they escaped, trouble would follow. A level-50 Divine Messenger equated to a level-65 regular monster—five levels higher than his peak-condition Elven Royal Guards. Add Conrad’s gold-rank strength, and capturing them would be no easy feat.
Moreover, luring could only work once. Their foes weren’t fools who’d fall into the same trap repeatedly. Thus, he needed maximum payoff from this encounter.
Brandon stroked his chin, momentarily troubled. Killing the lizardfolk or the Dark Priest seemed inconsequential.
Wait—Dark Priest?
Suddenly, he remembered something crucial. Damn! Dark Priests were dark elementalists. Brandon nearly slapped his forehead. Why hadn’t he realized sooner? Defeating a Dark Priest meant a bounty of dark elemental crystals. In past games, Blackfire cultist Dark Priests were dubbed “paupers” because they might drop nothing but dark elemental crystals upon death. Caught in habitual thinking, Brandon had overlooked this vital detail.
Now, clarity struck him. Kill the Dark Priest, and Cinnabar’s blood of gods would lose control temporarily, giving him another formidable ally.
He clapped his hands decisively. “No, we’ll target the Dark Priest first.”
Everyone stared, bewildered by the sudden change in plan.
Brandon patted his mount’s head, turning it around. Smiling awkwardly, he said, “Plans sometimes shift. It’s normal. Don’t worry—it won’t affect anything. Let’s return to the ambush point. I don’t intend to fight them here.”
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